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No, she thinks. No, no, no.
Sal Kincaid sits in the bathroom stall, staring at the dark smear on the inside of her underwear. She bites her lip, frustration building in her until she finally wipes, flushes the evidence and stands.
Another month, another hope down the literal drain.
With a heavy sigh, Sal exits the stall. She washes her hands, the water warm over her trembling fingers, and dries them on scratchy paper. She meets her reflection in the mirror and winces.
She has to tell Luke.
Again.
There’s still no baby. And at the rate they’re going there might never be. For the last year they’ve been trying. With the exception of her first pregnancy, she’s never made it past eight weeks. Sure, a few stuck, but they all ended the same. In blood. In loss.
She never thought it would be this hard. She and Luke had had enough heartbreak, she thought the universe would cut her a break, make wishing for a tiny baby easy, but it’s like running headlong into a brick wall over and over again.
A voice over the hospital loudspeaker calls for Doctor Yates. Sal takes down the loose braid she wears. As much a part of her uniform as the starchy paramedic garb she sports. She combs her fingers through the dark strands and gives herself a get-your-shit-together scowl in the mirror. She’s a fighter.
After all the hard knocks on the baby front, she has to remind herself about everything she has. All she has to be grateful for. Her life, for instance.
It was only two years ago that Sal was in a plane crash, leaving her friends and family to think she was dead. She was left with no memory. Left living with a madman who manipulated her into believing he was her husband for nine months. But then Luke found her. And he brought her back to their life—and their love.
She and Luke—they’ve overcome so much. Both before her memory loss and after.
Henry.
Sal closes her eyes. The name of her first baby, a baby she miscarried at four months in an awful car accident before she went missing, haunts her. She can’t remember him. And it kills her. It absolutely kills her.
Shaking her head, she chases away the weary thought. Better to focus on all the good things in her life. Everything she’s rebuilt. Everything she can hold on to. Her health. Her friends and family. Her job.
Slowly but surely, she was able to recertify her paramedic’s license. Her skills, her knowledge, held innate for so long, became automatic the second she started classes. It was like muscle memory. Like a blessing. And though her memory still hasn’t fully returned, Sal’s been determined to live her life to the fullest. This is just her life now and she’s okay with it.
She’s fucking Sal Kincaid and she came back from the goddamn dead.
Exhaling a resolute breath, Sal opens her eyes and wipes a long strand of chocolate-brown hair away from her face. Let’s go home, she thinks to herself as she exits the bathroom and walks down the long hallway of the hospital.
After staying with a patient for the last three hours until they were admitted, she’s bone-tired. Ready to get home. A glass of wine. A shower. Luke. A smile tugs at her lips. Even now, miles apart, he still has her knees going weak. Sal never knew you could crave a person. Food, sure. Sleep, definitely. But Luke. He’s a soul quench. A fierce force of love. And at the end of a long day, there’s nothing better than the sight of her hot-as-hell husband taking her in his strong arms and bending her over—
“Whoa, sweetcheeks, where you goin’?”
Sal’s jolted to a stop as a hand snags her arm. Tawny Reynolds, the other half of her paramedic team, stands in front of her. All biceps and black-ink tattoos, Tawny’s a boss. She takes no shit, and she and Sal always have each other’s backs when it comes time to step up.
“Home,” Sal says, giving her partner a smile. “You know, that warm and cozy place where relaxation beckons.”
Tawny shrugs. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”
Sal laughs. “That’s because you live in a gym.”
“Truth.” Tawny cocks her head. “You finally get that patient admitted?”
“Yeah. Only took three hours.” She moves to the side, getting out of the traffic of the hallway, and Tawny follows suit.
“Damn.” Tawny shakes her golden lion’s mane of hair. “That’s rough. Which is why I feel like an asshole for asking this right now.”
Sal lifts a brow. “What’s up?”
“I need a really big favor. Nurse Buntin’s got a patient in exam room two who’s clamming up.”
Sal sighs, knowing what Tawny wants. She thinks of Luke, on his way home from the studio. Though her husband’s been nothing but supportive since she went back to work months ago, he worries when she’s late. A throwback to last year. A never-healed wound from when Sal went missing.
